Xanax For Sale

When he is out of town, I am at a bit of a loss. Mr. Emotionally Unavailable is again physically unavailable. Not sure how to explain it, but the fact that his whole set of atoms are not within a 15 mile vicinity is kind of sad. I do enjoy my 'alone' time, but have this conflicting desire to be both close and a p a r t (which makes me want him all the more). Other people's witticisms and cheekiness, those of which are not even close to commanding as his, irritate me today as well. So, as I wait for yet another email, there's a serious lack of entertainment going on here, my bed is cold, and I have papers to grade. Bah.

I apparently don't know a good thing when I see it. M is concerned for my poor health while I am deathly (ok, some liberties there) ill. But instead of thanking him for his affection, I promptly berate him for not hauling his ass across town to enjoy the company of a stuffy, congested, smelly girl and her dog. I then reminded him that it was his fault I was sick, because apparently he is the only one in the entire stratosphere that could have possibly given me a cold. Smart boy that he is, he promptly got off the phone with me, to which triggered my ridiculously tardy sense of guilt. He didn't pick up, either. So, after 2 voicemail and 1 email apologies, I am a self-declared giant jackass.

The x text'd me today. I had called a week or two ago stating that I wanted to drop by the old house and get some of my xmas stuff that I had inadvertantly left behind in my haste to escape our travesty of a marriage. It was a pleasant conversation, a rarity these days. We both say we are happy with the decision we've made, but it seems that he's having some trouble convincing himself along with the rest of the world. Most of our post-marriage discussions, albeit rare and not counting the it-was-all-your-fault comments, have revolved around asking each other what's been 'going on' (ie. do you have a life). I admit, I was curious to see what he would actually do once he was set free into the bachelor's life he always craved. I imagined many a night out with barely legal community college students, with legs a mile long and monosyllabic conversations (okay that's a stretch), partying till the wee hours of the morning. He would always push the envelope whilst still married. Perhaps it was partly my fault, for I was the modern wife who would never dare make her husband unhappy by pushing unrealistic expectations upon his self. I didn't want to exemplify all the reasons men don't want to get married and deny his personal freedom. Apparently that somehow got mistranslated into permission to sleep with other people, stay out all night, and not call. I could not count the hours I spent wondering why he wasn't home, why he wouldn't pick up, where he was, and what he was doing. He became that boy. There are simply no words to describe the catharsis that soon transpired. I knew that I could not do anything to change him, and the answer was to just leave. It was hard, not because I was in love with him (that sentiment withered away long ago), but it had become such an investment of my self. It's comparable to the job one hates: you want out, but are still too unsure of a new opportunity without guaranteed success. Was I to leave our house? What was to become of our friends, our family, our stuff? I could have been like my mother, wasting away years of my life in a loveless marriage, playing house, and immersing myself in children. Instead, I was a quitter. But I did feel a peculiar sense of liberation. I am a girl not known for jumping into the unknown, but I did. M laughs about the sad fact that I left everything behind and asked for nothing (he's an attorney - figures). Perhaps that made it all the more easy for a hasty exit. Granted, my living situation is not ideal and I have yet to gain my proverbial pot to piss in, but I would have traded in my empty soul to get out of that house, and I did. I threw the clothes in the car, got the dog, and shacked up with mom. Not the sexiest digs for the newly single girl, but there is always someone who worries about me (and she's a kick ass cook to boot). I have no furniture. There is no pool for Sam. Perhaps the most startling outcome is a newfound appreciation for life. I actually had time to go out with friends, rather than grade papers waiting for that small chance of him coming home. I began to maintain friendships outside the incestuous circle of approved mutual friends who only consisted of people trying to extend their high school glory days way too far into their twenties. And the boys... the glorious boys that are on this other side of the avenue, some of whom I've loved and will love (so nice to use that word again without cringing). X states he hasn't been going out or seeing much of his (formerly our) friends. He's been working a lot. And again he asks, "what's been going on?" Life, my dear. Life outside of you.

G and I at the House of Blues for Jason Mraz. It was a free photo, the acts stunk, and we were at the bar. I have yet to explain why I have 2 chins and am very shiny. Oh, and Jason, lose the band.

Despite calling it Thanksgiving dinner, the bird was in at 8 am (which was a struggle since I had to leave a very comfortably warm body in order to haul ass home). This year's annual stray, my friend J, arrived bearing gifts, and the feast ensued at 2 pm. This is, of course, after the 25 photographs my mother insisted upon taking with various groups of family members surrounding the yet uneaten food. After pigging out, we introduced Joshua to the wonderful world of karaoke. See, in my family, karaoke is not merely the cap to a fabulous night of drinking. It is the end of the evening meal, the evening's dinner party entertainment, and the highlight of every family gathering. Not only is there karaoke, but we have it both in Chinese and English to accomodate all our guests. This is where poor J fell victim. J was playing the perfect guest, being very sociable and kind. He offered to sing along to one tune, then my mother went in for the kill. She thrust one of the three microphones upon him and commanded the newly crowned virtuoso to belt out the rest of the tunes... solo. His only reprieve was the switch from English to Mandarin, to which my mother soon took over and commanded her audience accordingly. J soon escaped, but I remained captive for another 3 hours, listening to the muzak-inspired Mandarin renditions of classic 60's tunes. I've already finished the bottle of Pinot ... I think I'll have another helping of turkey.